


unchronicled

by athoughtfox



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), Will add tags as I go, gathered bits and pieces, some are in narnia, some in England
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athoughtfox/pseuds/athoughtfox
Summary: A selection of unchronicled moments from the world of The Chronicles.Presently featuring: the Kings' and Queens' parentage is a mystery that grows, Lucy and Peter on the eve of battle, Jill seeing the dragon in Eustace, Oreius's training regime, Caspian seeing Narnia's love for her Four dearest.
Relationships: Caspian & Edmund Pevensie, Caspian & Peter Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie, Jill Pole & Eustace Scrubb, Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie, Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

By the time she is twelve, Lucy Pevensie - now Lucy the Valiant, Queen of Narnia, now Lucy of the sea, of the sunrise, of the silver crown, of titles and glories countless - has forgotten whose daughter she is.

Peter says a star came soaring down from the sky to give her to him. Edmund says he found her when he was out exploring one fine day, cradled in the boughs of an ancient tree, and Susan says she lifted Edmund and Lucy both from the arms of the great Narnian river. 

She lets them give their play-answers, skipping away, rather thrilled to be a mystery. Edmund often follows with a grin, shaking away his dim impressions of what must have been Spare Oom, a world under a storm that rolled on forever. But Peter and Susan watch her go, not knowing what to say of the woman with Susan’s hair and Edmund’s eyes, who stands at the edges of their minds like a ghost.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't feel Valiant," she tells him, like a secret, her chainmail a hard, glistening heap laid alongside her brother's for the coming morning. His shoulder shrugs under her head and he catches her hand to stop her picking another thread loose from his shirt, holding it as gently as he might a small and flighty bird. Around them the camp is still, and the night plays its long thin note of anticipation. Through the soft and dimming waters of sleepiness, she breathes his familiar soldier's smell, iron and horse and tired leather. Against her hair comes his blessing, the warm thunder of his whispered assurances, and she is a little braver.


	3. Chapter 3

The train carriage sways, England’s small, polite springtime unpeeling around it. Scrubb is watching the breathless fields, the blurring trees, and Pole is watching his pupils; thin and reptilian, his sigh streaking the window darkly with smoke. She blinks and his eyes are round and blue, his breath on the glass white moisture. She remembers the unnatural stony heat of his palm against her own, the way he hadn’t flinched at the dig of her nails. England hurries past them, oblivious; either way, it’s only Scrubb.


	4. Chapter 4

Blindfolded, the colt is treading his unsteady way through patterns on the frost-laced earth, his sword heavy and teetering in his hands. The grass is whispering under his boots, the chill wind nosing and muttering, the sun drawing its cold bright fingers along that blade, a blessing and a promise.

He stumbles and Oreius smiles, unseen.

“It is not enough to hear, Wolfs-Bane, you must listen. Again.”


	5. Chapter 5

Walking the empty duelling ground, dusk settling over the ragged earth with a sigh, Caspian notices that in all the boot-chewed baldness of the lists, there are patches of new grass growing in rich spatters of hungry green. Then swiftly comes the sound of Lucy's whistling, sharp and lark-sweet, and the stars spring out as if in answer.

The Kings of Old have taken a shadowed corner, away from the fire and the dancing, and Edmund is binding Peter's thickly-bleeding sword hand. Around them in the windless night the trees bow and brush close, silent and reverent, and the long arms of the fire reach for them with as much laughing care as the arms of their sisters, and when Caspian blinks the grass at Peter's feet is all the greener. 

"The land never forgot them," Trufflehunter tells him later, his eyes small and bright and black as beetles, "and neither will you."

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly written as requests on my Narnia tumblr, which can be found over there at the same username.


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